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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27761050">The Devil Is In The Details</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_in_a_bottle/pseuds/Chaos_in_a_bottle'>Chaos_in_a_bottle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alliances, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Matt Murdock, Blind Character, Blood and Injury, Bombs, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Culture, Disability, Enemies, Enemies to Friends, Episode: s01e06 Condemned, Explosions, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Injury, Major Character Injury, POV Third Person, Protective Older Brothers, Revenge, Russian Mafia, Siblings, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Violent Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:01:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27761050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_in_a_bottle/pseuds/Chaos_in_a_bottle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt convinces Vladimir to leave with him instead of staying to die. Everything changes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Devil Is In The Details</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been working on this for a while, and I've had the idea for even longer, so I hope you enjoy!<br/>Translations and pronunciations of the Russian are in the end notes if you're interested, but it's not necessary to understand what's happening.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>'The Devil Is In The Details'</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Vladimir didn't think that he had been this cold since the dark and cold, long before Fisk. Long before 'Veles Taxi' and their operation. Far before even America. In that time they swore to never forget.</p><p>He had thought that it would be impossible to be less happy than he was then. How could he have fallen so low those times looked like paradise in comparison? He would never have thought it possible. </p><p>The gun in his hands burnt colder than the frosted bins they pilfered scraps from on the frozen streets of Leningrad; his maudlin thoughts darker than winter in their cell in the mountains. Perhaps that was the problem. It had always been 'them'. Now he was alone.</p><p>A loud noise startled him out of his thoughts, making him reflexively swing his claimed gun towards the noise. It took him a second to process that it was just The Mask. He lowered the gun again, the adrenaline bleeding out of him, as red and bitter as his blood that pooled on the floor. As if he could ever be alone, even after everyone had been taken from him.</p><p>The Mask. The man who he had thought worked for that сукин сын Fisk. But here he was, being proven wrong, for the forth time in half as many days.</p><p>This strange man seemed to have convinced himself that he was not a criminal, somehow unable to see how similar they were. Their work took place late at night, their fists worked harder than their voices to get information, both of them were ignorant of their flaws and unrepentant of their sins. It seems like Anatoly was better than them both.</p><p>But he was dead, and they were both still here.</p><p>He didn't need The Mask to tell him, now, to know that Fisk's men were getting closer. He could hear their heavy boots echoing above them. A crash knocked him out of his concentration; he reflexively snapped his head towards the noise. The strange man turned back to him, the heavy-set padlock that had locked the door, in tatters on the floor behind him. Vladimir blinked almost imperceptibly, impressed by the show of strength.</p><p>"Vladimir! Get up, we can both still make it out."</p><p>He watched the man, half delirious from the blood loss, struggling to translate the man's words into his native tongue.</p><p>Both? Оба?</p><p>He wanted him to go with him? Vladimir wondered incredulously. He had mocked his "mercy" mere minutes ago, but now he was faced with it, he mentally took back what he had said. He shook his head in response to the pleads, the movement sending spikes of white-hot pain through his skull and ricocheting though his entire body.</p><p>"You not escape without distraction. I buy time." He choked out, his accent having thickened noticeably in his delirium, even to him. The man tilted his head in that oddly endearing way of his.</p><p>"Murderer", whispered the conscious part of his mind.</p><p>He wondered how, in all his years, he had never been so prepared to die. It brought thoughts of who, if anyone, would mourn him. Before, he would have had a list at a moments notice, with Anatoly at the forefront.</p><p>Maybe not a long list, but enough for him to know that he would be missed, that he should keep fighting. But his brother was dead, as were his people. His friends.</p><p>Perhaps it was naïve of him to hope that Anatoly had reached неба -paradise- after all that they had done, but he wished it all the same. His little brother had never been a saint to him, but neither had he, so it and never mattered before. All that had mattered was making the most of their lives. Now everything was different.</p><p>Would this masked man be mourned? Did his people wait anxiously for news, or was he alone too? If he left now, he could still get out. Reunite with his people- no, his friends. Vladimir had no one. If he died here, at least he would be with his brother again.</p><p>Vladimir opened his eyes again in shock when he felt a sharp sting on his cheek. The Mask had come up to him again, his words sliding in to focus.<br/>
"You do not die here Vladimir. Please. You don't want to die here. I know you don't. We can still make it. I have friends who can help us."<br/>
So the man did have friends then. The desperation in his words cut through the haze in his mind. Three facts were now so clear he wondered how he could have ever mistaken them before.<br/>
The first: he did not want to die.<br/>
The second: that choice had been taken from his brother.<br/>
The last: that the man who took that choice was Wilson Fisk. How could he consider leaving his brother to lie unavenged in his grave?</p><p>He wondered what had happened to his Tolya's body. Had he even received a burial, or had his body burnt in the explosion like the warriors of old? Could his spirit be free with such a send off?</p><p>His thoughts drifted to his brother's passage to the afterlife. Had Vladimir remembered to stop his watch? Were the mirrors covered?</p><p>But there were no mirrors to cover, and he bore no watch. They had burned with his family. The only remaining thing to do was avenge his death.</p><p>There may be no one left to give him his rights when he died on this mission, but his final mission it was. The single objective? Make Fisk pay.</p><p>He nodded slowly to the Masked Man waiting impatiently for his decision.</p><p>"You are right. You are a fool, but you are right. Fisk must be brought down. For what he did to my brother."</p><p>He pushed himself away from the wall that had been holding him up, forcing a chuckling cough that shook his body as The Mask froze, Vladimir imagining the look in his eyes as he blinked in surprise.</p><p>"Shocked asshole?" He taunted weakly, struggling to make his way towards the open door, the taunt ruined slightly when he almost collapsed halfway across the narrow tunnel.</p><p>The Mask rushed to his side, slinging Vladimir's arm over his shoulder to support him. The Masked Man half dragged him over to the door in the side of the tunnel, Vladimir's feet refusing to stay under him for more than a few steps at a time.</p><p>It might have been easier if Vladimir let go of the assault rifle he liberated, but if they wanted a chance they would need it.</p><p>They staggered a few steps into the tunnel, Vladimir almost falling over as he swung the door shut with the tip of the gun. After a moment of contemplation while staring at the door, he wedged the gun against it with what meager strength he could muster, pushing his body against the wall in an ineffective attempt to brace himself.</p><p>The Mask made a small noise of realisation and dragged Vladimir back a step.</p><p>"Good idea." He muttered, performing a flawless looking spinning kick and bringing his boot down on the butt of the rifle, wedging it in place with a loud bang.</p><p>The man turned back and lifted his arm over the shoulder, casting a single glance back towards the meagre barrier between them and the approaching footsteps, before taking off at a swift pace down the hall.</p><p>The frantic half-jog sent bursts of agony through his side with every step, his crusted blood-stained clothes catching on the raw skin with every slight movement.</p><p>The Russian desperately wanted to grit his teeth, but he knew from experience that that would only make it harder to breathe. The Masked Man made quietly encouraging noises as they moved, only broken up by his own grunts of pain and fatigue.</p><p>Vladimir pushed on, not so much dealing with the pain, but accepting that if he stopped he wouldn't ever start again. The pain flooded over him in waves, until the white-hot burning pain was second only to his hatred of Fisk.</p><p>He desperately latched onto that overwhelming desire to make Fisk pay, drawing on that bottomless well of vengeance to keep his feet under him. The sound of heavy footsteps and radio static behind them quickened their already frantic pace, the man taking more of Vladimir's body weight with every motion in an attempt to speed them along, until he was more being carried than assisted.</p><p>Eventually they came to a split in the tunnel, both options equally dark.<br/>
"Which one looks better?" He heard his companion ask quietly. Vladimir looked over at him incredulously.<br/>
A beat passed in silence.<br/>
"Yeah..." The Masked Man said awkwardly. "I say left."<br/>
The awkwardness was oddly humanising, a stark contrast to the symbolic nature of the man's body armour, Vladimir mused.<br/>
He didn't bother to respond to the statement, instead pulling himself forward, opting to save as much energy as he could.</p><p>The man seemed to be right, Vladimir reflected as the tunnel lightened. He glanced over at the man, who looked entirely unsurprised to be right, from what he assumed was a guess. The man was either over confident or ridiculously skilled. Given how many of his men he had taken out, Vladimir was more inclined to believe that it was the latter.</p><p>He painfully shrugged his companion's arm off of his shoulder, and shuffled forward, lurching and swaying, until he stood under the dim light source. Vladimir's face quickly became soaked, heavy rain dripping through a gap in the manhole and onto him.</p><p>The water was a refreshing change from the burn of pain and exertion, and he welcomed the sensation of both the dirt, blood and his few tears being gently washed way. The man gave him a brief moment of rest before interrupting him with a warm hand on his arm.</p><p>"Let's go." He said evenly. Vladimir didn't respond.</p><p>When the other man didn't move, he began shuffling the few steps over to the rickety ladder that was bolted to the wall. He cast a brief, doubtful glance at it, but his exhaustion won out and he grabbed the bar, stepping his feet up onto the bottom rung one at a time.</p><p>Slowly, he began to climb, hissing each time the reaching pulled at his side, and blinking stars out of his eyes when he was securely on a bar.</p><p>He pushed up the manhole cover as hard as he could, infinitely grateful that it was badly maintained enough that it was no where near watertight, so he could even budge it. He bit back a multitude of loud curses as he scrapped his side in the struggle to get out onto the street.</p><p>"Masked Man. Come up now." He whispered as loudly as he dared, once the pain faded back to a bearable level. His voice was so dry that it was painful to speak so loudly, but he felt exposed alone on the surface.</p><p>The street around him was dark. He knew, objectively, that it had not changed over night, but he was still partially convinced that the streets had become darker and darker since everything had happened. Because he was all alone now.</p><p>His job, gone. His home, gone. His friends, gone. His brother, gone- No! Gone was a mere platitude. A meaningless reassurance. His home had been destroyed. His brother was dead. They all were. It took a moment to even think the word, but it was true. Saying anything less felt like slander, like the epitome of disrespect.</p><p>He closed his eyes for a brief moment to collect himself again, trying to focus on anything other than the darkness that reminded him of how much he had lost.</p><p>He listened to the sounds of the city at night, cars and clubs and a far-off sound of music.</p><p>He could hear people's voices and footsteps, all merging into one constant noise.</p><p>If he concentrated hard enough, he could have sworn that he heard the distant sound of heavy boots on hard floor, his heart raising to match the frantic pace in seconds.</p><p>He sought another sound to focus on, anything to use as a distraction. A metallic creaking caught his attention, a noise that had been so consistent that he had ignored it as white noise, along with regular calming breaths that accompanied it.</p><p>He glanced towards the noise, disturbed but unsurprised to find his gaze travelling to the manhole he had climbed out of. Vladimir could have sworn that the noises were getting louder, and not just because his companion was getting closer.</p><p>He limped back over to the hole, carefully peering into it. He could barely make out the Masked Man's shape in the darkness, but could hear the noises much more clearly. It sounded like straining metal, and the metal hadn't looked that strong when he had climbed.</p><p>"Masked Man!" He called down. "Masked Man, hurry!"<br/>
He received a grumble and brief grumpy response in answer, clearly unwilling to listen.</p><p>"Mask! Hurry!" He hissed in frustration and anxiety, kneeling and leaning over the edge of the hole. " The metal is too weak-"</p><p>A crack sounded through the air, one of the supports breaking clean off the wall in a shower of concrete and dust.<br/>
"Mask!" He cried out. Thankfully, he soon heard coughing and cursing beneath him, followed by the disjointed noises of a frantic scramble up the ladder.</p><p>A creak.</p><p>He reached his hand down.</p><p>Crack!</p><p>The second support fell away, barely missing the man dangling by his arm and clinging onto his hand. The sheer pain whited out his sight, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He barely managed to keep hold of the man's wrist from where he clung, but thankfully the man had a stronger grip than Vladimir did.</p><p>"Quick!" He grunted, bracing his other hand on the mouth of the hole.<br/>
As the man began to clamber up the wall, clinging to his arm as if it were a rope, Vladimir thanked God that he had a high pain tolerance, then cursed to the devil and back that he was quickly running towards his threshold.</p><p>Just as the Mask grabbed the rim of the hole, he felt a tear in his side, a choked scream tearing its way out of his throat as he blacked out.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>'The Devil Is In The Details'</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>"Vladimir. Vladimir!"<br/>
He awoke to a shadow looming over him. He tensed as if to spring, but could immediately tell from the agony accompanying even those tiny movements, that he would not win without a miracle if it came to a fight.</p><p>"Ah. Sorry." He heard as the figure moved backwards, stepping under a street lamp that lit up his features. The fabric over his eyes was still firmly in place, but both it and the man who was wearing it looked the worse for wear.</p><p>Vladimir smiled internally, reassured and more than a little gratified, given that he currently had a hole in his side.</p><p>It also was comforting to know that the almost inhuman thing that had hunted down his men could be hurt, and that he could defend himself, however unsuccessfully it would end.</p><p>He took a moment to remember what had happened, carefully propping himself up against the wall he didn't recall having been there.</p><p>"Что?" The man looked at him blankly.<br/>
"Что случилось?" He asked impatiently.<br/>
The man showed no signs of understanding him.<br/>
"Ты глухой?" He snarled, annoyed.<br/>
The man stared at him for a second, before saying in a deadpan voice, "I don't speak Russian."<br/>
He snarled, cursing under his breath, as he searched for the correct translation.</p><p>"What-?" he began, "How did I-?" He let the questions hang in the air between them, still feeling the effects of unconsciousness, and not being able to muster enough energy to clarify. He wasn't sure that he would be able to articulate it better if he tried, and definitely not in English.</p><p>"You passed out." Vladimir rolled his eyes at the obvious statement, "I carried you over here; I didn't want us to be seen." The man continued his sentence, impressively ignoring the eye roll as if he'd never seen it, despite looking directly at him. Or what he assumed was directly at him. It was hard to tell with the mask in the way.</p><p>"Um... Thank you. You very well might have saved my life." The Mask shifted awkwardly, and he allowed him to stew for a moment before responding, enjoying having the power between them for once.</p><p>"We are equal then." He replied simply, deciding to be nice.</p><p>"What now?" The question was a simple one, but carried impressive weight.</p><p>Would he kill Vladimir? Give him over to the police? That would give similar results, without leaving the man with a guilty conscience and less of a reason for someone to take revenge.</p><p>Only, that was no longer a problem. There was no one left. So why did he delay?</p><p>If it were him in the Mask's place, he would probably ask him all the questions he needed while he was disoriented, and then kill him quickly while he was still confused.</p><p>In his experience, the most humane way to die was unknowing of your fate. What was the saying in English? Ah, ignorance is bliss. Once you knew that you were going to die, you realise how much you want to live, and that makes the knowledge a thousand times worse. Still, he would not trade the knowledge for a painless death, and neither would his brother. Neither had his brother.</p><p>A slow death was no blessing, but the chance to fight, was. That was what Anatoly had both lived, and now died by. Vladimir would just have to follow his example.</p><p>The doctor- for the profession was not as noble as they would like people to believe- said that he could have still been conscious and fighting, half choked and with three broken ribs. The only vaguely comforting notion was that in a fight to the death, pain does not hit as hard.</p><p>He snapped back to the real world with the Mask's brief reply.<br/>
"We should probably get you to a doctor, I'm not sure how well the cauterisation will have held up." He eyed the damp fabric of his shirt with a tilted head. "Not well, it seems."</p><p>Vladimir snorted aloud.</p><p>"Americans." He muttered wryly, a wracking cough ripping through his throat. He doubled over in pain, his body contorting oddly as he reflexively tried to hold his side and his throat at once.</p><p>"Yeah, that does not sound good. Vladimir, Vladimir! Come on, uh, how long ago did you come to America? Come on, talk to me here!"</p><p>He would have snorted, but was too busy regaining his breath after his coughing fit to even consider it. What a weak attempt at interrogation. Was this really the same man that got Fisk's name from his men?</p><p>He regained control over his body slowly, but devoid of any of the composure or strength that he might have regained in their brief conversation.</p><p>The man hovered over him awkwardly, repeating his questions and reaching out his hand as if to sooth him before hastily pulling it back. He waved the man off as well as he could, but eventually snapped at him to stop when he persisted.</p><p>"If you must know, we-" he stumbled in his speech, "I," he corrected, "have been here for four years. Now, Mask, what happens?"</p><p>The man stopped, but eyed him oddly, as if he wasn't quite sure what to think of him.</p><p>"Like I said, we should really get you to a doctor. Which might be a difficult prospect."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Well two men wandering in covered in blood would probably raise a few questions-"</p><p>"Half the block was just blown up, I doubt it would be out of the ordinary at the moment." He interrupted, annoyed at the delay.</p><p>"And that would be fine," Here he received what he assumed was a glare, "If Fisk wasn't trying to kill us both."</p><p>"Do you not have a doctor? My men may have mainly failed at taking you down, but you must have had injuries that you couldn't tend to yourself before. Who did you go to?"</p><p>The man bristled, snapping out, "If you hadn't kidnapped her then maybe that would be a more appealing option!" As soon as he had realised what the Mask had done in revenge, Vladimir had regretted his actions. Not that he had confided that fact to anyone other than his brother.</p><p>Vladimir winced.</p><p>"Ah."</p><p>"Although perhaps-"</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>'The Devil Is In The Details'</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Matt stumbled into the hospital, reaching his arms out to either side, and generally making a big show of his blindness, giving a few stumbles that he wasn't entirely sure weren't from exhaustion. The noise that assaulted his ears was almost deafening, people screaming and crying, machines buzzing, nurses and doctors calling to each other- . If his expression of pain was more real than put on, well, he supposed, it would just be all the more realistic.</p><p>"Sir! Sir, are you alright?" The young woman, judging by the voice at least, sounded like she had been crying. A surge of guilt enveloped him. Here he was, helping a mafia boss, while innocents like this suffered consequences that they couldn't comprehend the reason for.</p><p>"Sir are you hurt? Here, sit down."</p><p>Carefully making sure to slur his words just enough to be effective, he answered the distraught woman.</p><p>"I'm fine. I think. Where are we?"</p><p>The woman gently pulled on the sleeve of Vladimir's bloodstained jacket, attempting to lead him to what he assumed were chairs.</p><p>They had exchanged clothes in an effort to make Matt look less conspicuous, but Matt was nervous to rely so heavily on Vladimir's truthfulness in a way that could risk his life if he wasn't careful. </p><p>He pulled back, wrenching his sleeve out of her hand and almost falling over backwards as a result, lending credibility to his act. The down side of this acting was that it played havoc on his enhanced senses, he relied so heavily on his balance that to willingly let it go took a lot of willpower.</p><p>Luckily for him, he'd had plenty of practice faking falls and tripping over things; people seemed to believe that blind people were incapeable of surviving on their own, so occasionally he made mistakes in front of them to sooth any suspicions.</p><p>"We're in the hospital, you just sit there and I'll try to find you a doctor, okay honey?"</p><p>"Oh... thank you miss." The woman scurried off, to find him a doctor he presumed. She seemed very willing to take her mind off whatever had happened. He couldn't blame her.</p><p>He pushed his senses as much as he could through the noise, searching for one in particular. Finally, he managed to pinpoint the sound he was looking for, which was slowly making its way towards him.</p><p>Mentally, he thanked his senses for letting him identify such minute details, and then cursed them for getting him into this situation in the first place. He cocked his head to the side, focussing his entire being on that one sound.<br/>
"He said that he didn't think that he was injured, but he was very unstable and had blood covering his jacket too! He's just around this corner. Thank you so much ma'am!"</p><p>He heard the distinct sound of her footsteps cut out as soon as she saw him and tried for a smile.</p><p>"Do you know each other?" The kind woman asked carefully, shifting protectively in front of him and glancing between them.</p><p>"Hmm? Oh no, it's just that your right, that is a lot of blood." The footsteps started again with renewed purpose, marching towards him. "Don't worry miss, I'll take care of him."</p><p>He smiled awkwardly- in the way that Foggy always described as a kicked duckling- already regretting what he had to ask of her.</p><p>"Sir?" She gently touched his arm to get his attention. "Sir, if you come with me, I can take you to a hospital bed." He nodded vaguely in response, barely feigning having trouble getting up and walking in a straight line.</p><p>Claire lead him into a room, carefully shutting the door before rounding on him. "Matt!" She scolded. "What happened to you? What if it hadn't been me?" She examined the blood drained jacket he had donned, he could feel her change in height from the air waves, as she lent in to help him out of the shirt and quickly waved her away.</p><p>"Don't worry about it, it's not mine." He stood up straighter, giving up the ruse now he was in safe company.</p><p>"Claire this is important!" He hissed at her, as she continued to examine him.<br/>
"So is your life!" She snapped back. "I'm fine," he brushed her off, "but I need a favour." While he couldn't decipher the expression on her face- his senses could only go so far- he assumed from the pregnant pause that she was looking at him as if he was insane. At this point, she might be right, he thought, but snapped himself out of those thoughts quickly.</p><p>"I need your help."</p><p>He received only a sigh in response.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>'The Devil Is In The Details'</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Vladimir watched the Mask's shadowed figure walk briskly towards the the alleyway he had hidden in, the streetlamps illuminating the bare minimum of his body. The man made a beeline towards him, seeming to know the route perfectly.</p><p>He was half surprised that he could even tell where he was; the night was dark, and the shadowed alleyway resulted in it being pitch black where he lay. Even he was not having an easy time tracking the Mask, and that was with the additional lighting over him, so to do so without it was impressive. The other half of him was much too exhausted to care. As the man got closer, he managed to make out that the black mask was securely fastened around his eyes again. He might not begrudge the man his caution- his weariness was well-earned- but that didn't stop him from rolling his eyes at the paranoia.</p><p>"Well?" He called as loudly as he dared and his torn-up throat allowed. In response, the man raised his arm, displaying a green bag about the size of a lunch box. He raised his eyebrow in question.</p><p>"Is that it?" He asked doubtfully.</p><p>He was sure that he wasn't imagining the slight upturn to his companion's lips, and stared for a moment incredulously.</p><p>The smile came familiar and easily to his face, but also hinted at more of a character than he'd mentally assigned the man. No man who was permanently brooding could be so comfortable with such a snarky grin.</p><p>A second figure hurried out of the hospital, much less comfortable with the dark than his companion.<br/>
"Mask?" He asked, his body stiffening as he gestured to the suspiciously familiar woman currently lit up by one of the street lamps.</p><p>"That's the other part of it."</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>'The Devil Is In The Details'</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Being ushered less than gently into a mortuary van, had not ever been part of Vladimir's plan.</p><p>In fact, he had been quite certain that he would never ride in one before he was dead. But yet here he was, lying in the back and covered by a white sheet, side by side with the man who mere hours ago he had sworn to kill, and being driven by a woman who he had ordered kidnapped and beaten.</p><p>He would have laughed if he wasn't so used to containing himself. Perhaps he would have anyway in normal circumstances, but his life depended on being silent.</p><p>He briefly replayed the conversation between the Mask and the nurse in his head, picking apart any hints of who they might be.</p><p>Given that The Mask had saved his life, perhaps he shouldn't be so hasty to gain leverage over him, but given that Vladimir was currently at his mercy, any advantage over him would be welcomed.</p><p>They wouldn't have said anything too revealing regardless, They were not exactly on the best of terms.</p><p>"How can you stand to help him?" She had asked. "After all he has done?"</p><p>The Mask had managed to send her a very meaningful look, which Vladimir found impressive, considering that his eyes were hidden by a cloth.</p><p>"Claire, you know how I feel about forgiveness."</p><p>"That didn't stop you from throwing less evil men than him from windows though did it?"</p><p>Mentally, he agreed with her, but he couldn't find the energy to voice it, and doubted it would do any good.</p><p>"They survived." Vladimir snorted from the alley wall, the image of Sergei lying in his hospital bed flashing to mind. They ignored him.</p><p>"Barely."</p><p>"That's still better than he will end up if we leave him here. I swear that I would not ask this of you Claire, if I could do it myself." The Mask pleaded.</p><p>She sighed as if even talking to him was causing her pain. "What do you need me to do?"</p><p>"Fisk and his men will be looking for us. We need to get out of this area without being noticed."</p><p>"What about the Morgue ambulance then?" She asked, gesturing towards the parking lot across the road.</p><p>"Perfect!" He paused. "Claire... you realise that if you are found with us-"</p><p>"And if I don't help you will die anyways." She interrupted. "We had better not be stopped then hadn't we?"</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>'The Devil's In The Details'</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Lying side-by-side with a man who he had been trying to kill mere hours ago, Vladimir thought over his strange situation.</p><p>He couldn't help but find it morbidly ironic as a man who collected information on anyone and everyone, that his previously comfortable life now depended on a man who's face he had never seen, and he knew nothing about.</p><p>As the van drove over yet another bump, Vladimir found himself agreeing with the nurse. He could not die here.</p><p>He had people to avenge.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please remember to comment and like if you enjoyed reading this,  it helps me to know what I'm doing right or wrong.<br/>сожаление (the title) -regret - sozhalenie<br/>сукин сын- son of a bitch- pronounced sukin syn<br/>Что- what- pronounced shto<br/>Что случилось- what's happening- shto sluchilos<br/>Ты глухой- are you deaf- taeh (teh)- glukhoy</p><p>These pronunciations are my own attempts to write how it is said in Russian, and not the usual way of writing it, as I thought it might be easier to be able to pronounce from my versions in case you're interested. I'm not a native Russian speaker, but I am learning russian so this is just my take on it.<br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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